


A Life Told in Sound

by Anonymous



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Return to Treasure Island (TV 1996)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-23 00:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20331262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Jim's life told through the sounds that he hates and those that he loves. He would do anything to preserve the sounds the he likes best even if it means giving up others that he loves.





	A Life Told in Sound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [islandkate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/islandkate/gifts).

> This was supposed to be fairly short. It grew.

If you had asked Jim a few years ago where he saw himself in a 10 years. He would have never imagined this. He would have told you that he saw himself still working for the marina and living on his boat there. He would have seen himself still lamenting how the size of the boat prevented him from purchasing many physical books. How he disliked carrying his entire library on a small black tablet that fits in the pocket of his pants. After he left the boat he tried to switch back to physical books, but for the most part he still uses the tablet. Only his favorites sit enshrined on shelves in the library. They are carefully nestled in with the hundreds of books that Ross brought with him. He would have never imagined that he would sit in a library, his lover’s feet in his lap, reading a book, and listening to the crackle of the fire in the fireplace.

Jim has heard many sounds in his life. He has loved some of them. And there are others that he wishes never to hear again.

He has always hated the sound of trains. Maybe it is because it is one of the few memories that he has of his parents. 

* * *

_He is seated on the floor playing with his army men on the carpet that turned his knees black. His parents were screaming at one another in the kitchen. He cannot remember what the fight was about, but there was always a fight so does it really matter? The house was tucked between a series of dilapidated houses and a busy set of railroad tracks. The house would shake you might as well not even try to think or hear anything until the roaring torrent of steel was well away. After a hurricane of metal passes Jim hears his mother crying. He looks. She is sprawled on the floor and blood drips from her split lip. His father towers over her. His face is a brilliant red and he breathes heavily through gritted teeth._

* * *

Jim was not there for very long. He thinks he left shortly after that day. As far as he knows he never saw neither of them again. At first he was bounced from place to place. A blur of bedrooms and faces, but no one that particularly cared all that much for him. Eventually the blur stops. He was placed in a group home with very few adults and too many kids.

He spent much of his childhood learning how to ignore the multitude of sounds made by his peers. Their gossiping and shouting irked him. He just wanted to be left in peace and quiet so he could read. He would curl up in his corner bunk with a blanket tucked beneath the upper mattress—a tactic that provided him with a modicum of privacy. It also muffled the sound of too many boys trapped in a cement building. The other boys would often rip the blanket down and torment him, but as he got older the jokes got crueler. 

* * *

_"Hey, Gawkins!” the sing-song voice echoes through the room that only contains bunk beds and metal lockers. _

_ Jim quickly tucks his book, Kidnapped , away and steels himself for what he knows is coming. _

_ The blanket disappears with the telltale popping of a torn seam. The previously filtered light is now harsh and hot. The afternoon sun pours through the uncurtained windows. The group of boys clusters around Jim’s bunk. _

_ “What you you doing Gawkins? Do you put your blankie up so you can touch yourself?” one of the boys sniggers. _

_ Jim grits his teeth and stares as his bare feet. _

_ “Hey! We’re talking to you, cumwad!” Sean grabs Jim by the front of his shirt and drags him from his bunk. Another smacks him on the back of his head. Jim’s hands curl around where his shirt is fisted in Sean’s hands in an attempt to prevent it from tearing and stretching. _

_ “We know someone told Maxwell about us sneaking out last weekend,” Sean snarls. He shoves Jim against the wall; his skull cracking off the concrete. _

_ “I swear I didn’t tell.” Jim meets Sean’s eyes. He knows nothing he says will change what is about to happen. _

_ Sean sneers, “We don’t believe you.” _

_ “Please let go,” Jim says quietly he tries to keep his voice steady. He is trembling with anger and indignity. _

_ Sean looks thoughtful for a moment like he is considering it. His grip on Jim’s shirt loosens ever so slightly. Then his face hardens. “I have a better idea.” _

_ The other boys laugh. _

* * *

Jim really hates the sound of large groups of children. 

He stopped spending as much time in the house after that even if it meant breaking the house’s strictly enforced rules. He took advantage of after school programs and the public spaces of the city. 

* * *

_“See me after class, Jim,” Mr. Peterson says as he places the stapled stack of papers facedown on Jim’s desk._

_ “You’re in trouble,” the boy seated next to Jim whispers loudly. Some of the other kids laugh. _

_ Jim says nothing. _

_ When the last student files from the room Jim approaches Mr. Peterson’s desk. Jim pulls a worn paperback book from his pocket and places it on the desk. _

_ “I thought that you’d have finished that one already,” Mr. Peterson smiles. _

_ “Well, it was pretty short.” A small smile tugs at Jim’s face. _

_ Mr. Peterson scoops _ Brave New World _ off his desk. “I know. That’s why I brought you something longer this time.” He pulls a thick paperback from his bag. “This ought to keep you busy for at least a few days.” _

_ Jim takes the book— _ The Idiot. _ “Thanks.” Jim tucks it in his bag and starts to leave. _

_ “Jim?” _

_ Jim turns back, “Yeah?” _

_ Mr. Peterson clasps his hands together on his desk. “Have you thought anymore about what we talked about at the beginning of the year?” _

_ Jim frowns. “Have I thought anymore about what?” he lies. He remembers the conversation in great detail. And he _ has _ thought about it a lot. _

_ “Have you given any more thought to college, Jim?” Mr. Peterson’s eyes meet Jim’s. His gaze is firm. Jim looks away. “There is still time to get applications turned in for early decision. And there are exams scheduled for this weekend that have open seats.” _

_ Jim’s laugh is sharp and humorless. “No offense, Mr. Peterson, I don’t think the college thing is going to work for me.” His voice cracks. It’s the first time he’s said it aloud to himself. He had thought about it a lot. It was a lovely dream, but that was all it was—a dream. _

_ “Jim—” _

_ “I gotta go,” Jim turns and leave before Mr. Peterson can say anything else. _

_ He heads straight for the park near the group home. He usually sits on a bench reading until it is too dark. Today he cannot keep his place. His thoughts keep wandering and he ends up staring unseeingly at the trees that have already shed their leaves. He occasionally blows on his fingers to keep them warm so he can continue turning the pages of his book. Between his own thoughts and the story of Prince Myshkin Jim does not hear the sounds that would normally send him home early. _

_ A shout and a loud _ crack _ catches attention. What he sees when he looks up makes the bottom drop out of his stomach. “Shit.” _

_ He quickly throws his bag over his shoulder. He carries the book in the other hand; a finger marks his place. He cuts across the dead grass and crunching leaves to get away from the unfolding situation as quickly as possible. The _ cracks _ and _ pops _ increase in frequency. He ducks his head and hopes he can escape it unnoticed. _

_ He does not even feel the first one. It feels like someone shoved him; he stumbles and looks over his shoulder. He falls down when the second one hits. Then they start to hurt. _

**xXx**

_ “Sir, I’m Timothy, I’m a paramedic I’m here to help you,” the man pressing gauze to Jim’s abdomen says calmly. _

_ Jim ignores him and looks around. The tubes sticking out of his arm make his mind stutter. “My book...” He cannot see his backpack. He tries to sit up. _

_ Timothy stops him. “You have to lay down.” _

_ “I need my book,” Jim says more forcefully. He pushes Timothy and the other paramedic’s hands away. “I need the book!” Panic edges in. _

_ Timothy disappears for a moment. “I got his bag,” he says to the other paramedic. “Let’s get him in the ambulance.” _

_ “The book?” _

_ Timothy nods. “I got your book. Though it might be ruined. You can’t have it right now.” _

* * *

Jim hates the sound of gunfire. He will not watch most action movies. Ross watches them on his computer with his headphones on. Ross reclines on the couch with his feet in Jim’s lap while Jim reads and enjoys the silence of their home.

* * *

_The first thing Jim hears is incessant beeping. It must be his alarm. He fumbles around for his watch, but something cold and metal bites into his wrist. When he comes to full consciousness he tries again and startled when he sees that he is cuffed to the hospital bed. His eyes go wide and he looks around the dimly lit room. It is obviously late, but Maxwell, one of the adults from the Benbow Group Home, sits in the corner reading a magazine. A cop stands outside the door, Jim can see the silhouette of his uniform through the window._

_ Jim stares at his wrist. Everything is still a bit hazy. He tugs at it experimentally. It rattles against the rail, but nothing else happens. Maxwell looks up from his magazine. _

_ “What’s this?” Jim demands as angrily as he can manage. _

_ Maxwell sets the magazine down firmly. He leans forward; his elbows rest on his knees and his hands are clasp together. “The police aren’t sure what happened, but witnesses suggest that you were involved. They don’t want you leaving before they can speak with you.” _

_ “The fuck do they think I’m going?” Jim snaps. He is not in pain, but he can feel uncomfortable tugging in his upper left abdomen when he moves. He is grateful for whatever pain medication they are giving him. “I didn’t do anything!” _

_ Maxwell shrugs and then stands. “I promised that I would tell them when you woke up.” _

_ “I didn’t do anything!” _

**xXx**

_ “How are you feeling?” _

_ Jim looks up from _ The Idiot, _ the bottom of the pages are crinkled and stained with his blood, “Mr. Peterson! What are you doing here?” _

_ “You can call me Jordan when we’re not in the classroom,” Jordan enters the room. He sets his folded jacket on a chair before he sits down. “I heard about what happened and thought I would come see how you are doing.” _

_ Jim closes the book marking his page with his finger. “I’m okay,” he shrugs. “The police don’t really believe me when I told them I was just reading a book, but they don’t have anything that suggests otherwise.” _

_ Jordan nods. “I submitted college applications for you. I told them about your situation and they’re more than happy to accept essays and test scores late.” _

_ “Mr. Peterson—” Jim starts. _

_ “Jordan.” _

_ “Jordan. I’m not going. I know you want me to, but I can’t. Who would pay for it? I don’t have any money. I know they have scholarships, but they never seem to cover everything.” _

_ “Going to college would give you a chance to have something better. And there are loans to cover anything that isn’t covered by scholarships.” _

_ “I have nothing. I really don’t want to have less than nothing by taking out a loan and I seriously doubt anyone would give me one.” _

_ Jordan stands. “We’ll talk about it more when you’re better.” _

* * *

As soon as Jim is released from the hospital he runs. The few possessions that he values fit into his backpack and a duffel bag. He has one stop to make before he leaves.

* * *

_Jim knocks on the door of the English classroom. His duffel bag abandoned in the empty school hallway._

_ Jordan looks up and smiles, “Jim. Are you back then?” _

_ Jim takes a few steps into the quiet classroom. “Not exactly.” He shuffles his feet. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m leaving. I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done.” He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “You’re the only teacher I really liked in this hell hole,” he says with a short laugh. _

_ Jordan frowns. “Are you transferring schools?” _

_ “No,” Jim says quietly. _

_ “You can’t leave!” Jordan rises and approaches Jim. “There are only a few months left until graduation. At least stay until then. You’ll need a high school diploma for a lot of things. You can’t even enlist without a diploma.” _

_ “I can’t stay. I wanted to give you your book back.” Jim pulls the book from the pocket of his coat and shoves it toward Jordan. _

_ Jordan shakes his head sadly. “Keep it.” _

_ “Thanks.” Jim returns the book to his pocket. _

_ “Are you sure I can’t talk you into staying?” _

_ Jim nods and stares out the row of windows behind Jordan. _

_ “Here,” Jordan returns to his desk. “At least take this.” He scribbles on a piece of notebook paper before handing it to Jim. “It’s my address and phone number. Let me know if you need anything—a letter of recommendation, help, anything.” _

* * *

Jim left the city that night. He headed south and east and did not stop until he reached the coast and he only stopped then because there was no where else to go. The ocean is the first sound that he loves. It’s the first sound he thinks he could hear for the rest of his life.

* * *

_"Don’t you have anywhere else to be?” _

_ Jim startles and turns quickly. The only person on the dock is a grizzled old man with a tool box. _

_ “Not really,” Jim shrugs and hopes the man does not press the issue and call the police. Truancy is a crime and he does not want to have to deal with it. _

_ “Well, you might as well be useful. You’ve been sitting there every day for a week.” He drops the tool box on the deck of a boat. “Get over here and help.” _

* * *

Jim worked with Silver repairing boats for years. He was given a room over the boatyard’s office. When Silver took off in his boat one summer and never returned Jim was given his job. He even moved into the old houseboat that had been Silver’s. He had left it to Jim. For a long time it was Jim’s favorite place. The only complaint about the boat was how small it was. There was no room for more than a handful of books. He made weekly trips to the library and later he purchased a tablet, which was easier to carry in the pocket of the cargo shorts that he wore most days.He would fall asleep listening to the slap of waves on the hull that gently rocked the craft. He loved that sound and the quiet that descended on the boatyard at night.

For many years it was his favorite sound.

* * *

_During the summer months and the winter holidays the bars were always crowded with tourists, but Anna usually kept some seats near the bar free for the locals._

_ “Thanks, Annie-dear,” Jim says as he sits down. _

_ Anna rolls her eyes, “I must be the only one you sweet talk. Otherwise you’d have found someone to cook you dinner by now.” _

_ “You’d think that,” Jim pops a handful of peanuts into his mouth. “But my charm only goes so far. My personality is not much to speak for.” He winks. _

_ “I’m sure you could find someone if you tried.” _

_ “Probably,” Jim concedes. “But I’m only 27, what’s the rush?” _

_ Anna puts a pint of his usually in front of him and rolls her eyes before she moves off to serve another customer. _

_ That’s when Jim hears his laugh. _

_ He turns and searches the bar. The man is seated with a group. They’re all laughing, but not nearly as boisterously as the man with the dark unruly curls. His smile beams as whoever is speaking continues their story. _

_ That was a sound that Jim would not mind hearing again, but he never expected to. _

**xXx**

_ Over a week later Jim was back and seated at the bar. It was late and he had worked his way through his dinner and several pints of beer. He continues to linger rather than heading home to watch the soccer match. The boat may have many things, but a cable connection is not one of them. _

_ “Is this seat taken?” An accented voice asks. _

_ “Nah,” he shrugs. He is too caught up in the match to look away. He does not feel like getting sucked into a conversation with a tourist about what the best activities are in the town. Jim would not know, and even if he did he would keep them to himself. Keep the private and away from prying eyes. _

_ “Do you live here?” _

_ Jim groans internally and quickly thinks of a rude answer before turning to look at his companion. He is surprised to see the man from the earlier week. His smile is just as bright. _

_ All of Jim’s snark disappears. “Yeah. I’ve lived here for about ten years now.” _

_ “I figured you lived here. I saw you in here a few weeks ago.” _

_ “Are you not a tourist then?” _

_ “Nah. My family just came down to celebrate. I’m nearing the end of my time in the army. I’m stationed at the base down the coast. But, I’ve been looking at staying in the area. I’ve been scouting out towns to see which one I like the best.” He meets Jim’s eyes, “This one keeps drawing me back.” _

* * *

Jim would have loved to live by the ocean but the roar of water on sand would drown out the small sounds that he finds that he cannot live without—the small sounds of his life with Ross.

At first Ross rented a house right on the coast. There was a view of the sea from every room and the crash of the waves lulled him, and Jim when he decided to stay, to sleep each night. But when they started looking at homes to buy Jim picked someplace a few miles inland. It was a big old farmhouse in the middle of nowhere on a dirt road with a long driveway. The nearest neighbors are nearly a mile off and it was ten minutes from anywhere worth going. It was off a dirt road and while you could still smell the sea you could not hear it. 

Ross was surprised when Jim told him which house he preferred, but they purchased it soon after and made it their own.

Jim dug out his copy of _ The Idiot _ to find the sheet of notebook paper he’d been given all those years before. He had never contacted Mr. Peterson, but Jim wanted to let his old teacher know that he was doing fine and to thank him again. Jim and Ross’ shared love of books was one thing that brought them together. Jim wrote a long letter and included a picture of himself and Ross sitting on the front steps of their newly purchased home with wide smiles and eyes only for each other.

* * *

_Jim stretches luxuriously beneath the soft cotton duvet. He savors the feel of it against his nakedness. It even softens the slight burn in his muscles from the night before. He nuzzles his face deeper into the soft pillows and he is greeted by the subtle, woodsy scent of Ross. This mingles with the crisp smell of autumn that is fast approaching and the faint hint of coffee that is wafting its way up the stairs. Ross’ voice accompanies the smell of coffee. He often sings old army songs about caissons in the morning. The floorboards creak beneath Ross’ feet as he moves through the old house. Other than the gentle sounds of Ross’ moving through their home and the rustling of leaves there is nothing._

_ The protestations of the stairs announce Ross’ arrival as does the smell of coffee and toast. Ross climbs into bed—the springs squeak— and drops a kiss on Jim’s cheek. _

_ “Good morning, love.” _

* * *

Yes. These are the sounds that he likes the best.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Peace, Trust, and the Ocean](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25529878) by [i_am_still_bb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_still_bb/pseuds/i_am_still_bb)


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